Monument
by Time Traverser
Summary: New York, 1885. France goes to visit America's shores with hopes of bridging the gap between them. Short little historical one-shot; rated T because I said so. NO ROMANCE!


_New York, 1885_

France felt a presence come to the railing beside him, seemingly from nowhere. He didn't have to look to know who it was. "It's been too long, _mon ami_."

America was silent, waiting. But waiting for what?

France sighed, fiddling with his fashionable cuffs. He honestly never thought he'd be saying what he was about to say. "I feel as though I owe you an apology."

An even longer moment of silence stretched between them before the western Nation finally spoke. His voice was odd, though. Hoarse, as though he hadn't been using it much. "For what?"

"For underestimating you," France answered almost repentantly as the last cargo ship cheerfully announced its arrival into port with a long sounding of its horn. "We might've been good friends, if I only looked past my own arrogance and petty rivalry."

America breathed in the cool, salty air. "Maybe."

The pair fell into uneasy silence. France dared to glance at his younger companion, taking in his appearance. Wider in the shoulders, with adult muscle just beginning to form underneath a simple white shirt and dark trousers. Blue eyes were distant behind thin wire spectacles as he watched the ships coming and going. Less of a boy, and more of a man.

However there were other things-things that those less observant might not notice. America's stance was centered, and ready to react to any attack that might come from the French Nation's direction. His fingernails were cut to the quick, and his hands had the calluses of a laborer. His overall neutral expression was closer to a calculated frown than serene casualness.

And he was restless. America constantly alternated between tapping his foot and the drumming the railing with his fingers. Occasionally, he would run a hand through his unkempt hair and fiddle with his sleeves.

' _I should have arrived, sooner.'_ Aloud France asked, "How long have you been alone, now?"

"…I'm not sure," America answered slowly. "A while. I'd only recently returned to the White House." Then he laughed, though it was hollow. "My cowboy days are over, apparently. Cleveland seems pretty intent on keeping me there."

France hid his wince with a light frown. "I did not mean that. How long has it been since you were in _regular_ contact with one of your own kind?"

A long, thoughtful pause. "Not since Prussia left after my revolution."

Just over a century. France swore under his breath. "Not even your brother?"

"He hates me. Why would we visit each other?"

Another, more colorful swear on France's part. _'That's not what Mattieu told me last week. Anglettere, what did you_ do _?'_

America raised an eyebrow. "Does it really matter?"

"Yes, it most certainly does." The European Nation straightened. As much as he wanted to drag America across the border to immediately reconcile with his brother, he knew he would have to take things slowly to repair the damage already done. Mental health was a delicate matter. "I think it is high time that we bridge the gap between us, both as Nations and friends."

"Friends," America echoed skeptically.

"Yes, friends." France went into his pocket, withdrawing a folded piece of parchment. "I know you don't have much experience with those, so allow me to start." He boldly tucked the parchment into America's breast pocket, and turned to leave.

He heard a crinkle of paper, and a surprised _urk_ as America undoubtedly ogled the scale drawing that Alexandre Gustave Eiffel and Frederic Auguste Bartholdi worked together to render. "T-this-…"

"A respectable Nation needs monuments for those ideals that created us, Amerique!" France called over his shoulder. "And don't forget to write-it can be terribly _boring_ on my side of the world."

* * *

 **You can probably guess what France just gave America. If not, I'll give you a clue. It's a really tall thing made of oxidized copper anchored to a small island that used to be a fort somewhere off the East Coast.**

 **Semi-historical one-shot,** _ **once again**_ **. Because** _ **once again**_ **, they are fun. This will be the last setup one before my super awesome multi-chapter one (the first chapter of which shall be unveiled…sooooon…).**

 **Thanks for reading, please review?**

 **Later dudes. ^J^**


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